It is simply a nervous attack. I am often troubled so; and
only perfect quiet and seclusion restores me. You have done me a great
honor, Mrs."--("Mrs.--Miller," sighed the sympathetic little
woman)--"Mrs. Miller,--and I thank you more than I have words to
express." He bowed limply, turned through a side door opening on a
stair, and tottered to his room.
During the three weeks' illness through which he passed, John had
every attention--much more, indeed, than he had consciousness to
appreciate. For the most part his mind wandered, and he talked of
curious things, and laughed hysterically, and serenaded mermaids that
dwelt in grassy seas of dew, and were bald-headed like himself. He
played upon a fourteen-jointed flute of solid gold, with diamond
holes, and keys carved out of thawless ice. His old father came at
first to take him home; but he could not be moved, the doctor said.
Two weeks of John's illness had worn away, when a very serious looking
young man, in a traveling duster, and a high hat, came up the stairs
to see him. A handsome young lady was clinging to his arm. It was Bert
and Josie. She had guessed the very date of their forgiveness. John
wakened even clearer in mind than usual that afternoon.
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